Heavy as a Mountain
by Tris'sLightningQuill
Summary: Never did anything from Egwene's PoV before, thought I'd give it a go. A bit of commentary on duty and the contrasting hierarchy of needs of two women who see that duty very differently. And some wishful thinking on my part. ToM spoilers.


Egwene was momentarily distracted from the reports splayed on the desk before her by a small commotion in the Keeper's antechamber. She half-caught the end of an exchange that became—on the one side—a shout, and Silviana poked her head in.

"The Yellow sister, Nynaeve al'Meara, wishes to see you, Mother." her Keeper ventured, glancing irritably back over her shoulder in the midst of her hesitant introduction as a loud voice petulantly gave correction.

Egwene sighed, laying down her pen. "Thank you, daughter. May as well show her in." It wasn't as though she had not wholly been expecting this sort of thing. She could only be grateful Nynaeve had the presence of mind to make a show of herself where only the Keeper would see. She _had_ gotten better about showing proper deference, she really had. But decorum was another matter entirely, and some people were simply incorrigible.

Nynaeve herself brushed impatiently past the double doors on the offswing, hardly waiting for Silviana to give her admittance, as if she meant to barge in no matter what Egwene had said. As she probably had. Disregarding the Red's continued presence at the door, not giving the Amyrlin time to stand, she marched directly over and slammed both palms down on the tabletop with enough weight that the inkwell jumped.

"What am I doing here, Egwene?" she demanded in a voice given volume by its heat, but was surprisingly even for all that. Egwene knew better than to try and make and answer to that, and simply sat with hands folded in her lap as the former Wisdom went on. "I'm not learning anything—I've taught enough so the rest of you could easily get on without me. What's my purpose, then? It's certainly not to wander these blessed halls, avoiding dirty looks. I know you brought me here to help you," she forestalled Egwene's interjection, "but how _can_ I help you, _Mother_, when I have to practically break the door down to even see you?" Shoving roughly off the desk, she commenced to pace a short circuit of the seven-striped rug, movements intense and jerky as a caged mountain cat's.

"I've done what I came here to do." she burst out before the Amyrlin had marshaled herself to speak. "Oath-bound, I'm no longer a danger to you. Very well; turn me loose! I'm not doing anyone a whit of good here, going stale like cherries left on the shelf... [Elsewhere, I could be so much more useful to the Tower.]"

Egwene was growing nervous and exhausted just watching the woman pace like that. She wouldn't try to interrupt again til some measure of Nynaeve's avalanche momentum had spent itself; it would be just as effective as trying to talk to an avalanche.

"I won't go to Rand," the Yellow put in quickly, raising hands to wave what she saw as a legitimate concern of the Amyrlin's away. "At least, not right at first. But I—" she faltered, losing the thread of her words. Light, she actually looked as if she might cry!

Egwene took advantage of the momentary break. "Nynaeve, what is it?" she asked softly.

The older woman came up short, her anxiously darting eyes catching Egwene's briefly before flicking away again as her fingers jerked, reaching for a braid that wasn't there. Instead, she bit her lip: Egwene was alarmed to see it come away bloodied.

"Something's wrong." It was almost a whisper, but it climbed as the rest of it tumbled out, pell-mell. "He's not _panicking_, not exactly—but, I, what I felt a few minutes ago... Light, I don't know _what_ I felt." She met the young Amyrlin's eyes, as if it were an act of will. "I have to go, Egwene." It was a statement of fact, one that brooked no contest.

Egwene heaved a sigh and, nodding resignedly, reached again for pen and ink and a fresh sheet of parchment. "If you must," was all she said. She felt a tiny stab of shame; for the briefest moment, Egwene had thought Nynaeve had been referring to the Dragon Reborn. Sometimes, the seven-striped stole weighed heavily upon her, and pressed her mind to high and impersonal matters concerning the entire world; whereas Egwene the girl should have known inside a word that there was only one man walking who could so quickly reduce intractable Nynaeve to a babbling state of frenzy.

Nynaeve blinked, and then only nodded. "Thank you." She spoiled the effect somewhat, though, by continuing when she could have kept her mouth shut. "I wanted your blessing, Mother, but I'll have you know I will quit this place inside an hour, whether you'd given it or not."

Egwene chose not to press the issue, instead continuing to write. She did not ask the older woman just how she meant to countermand her direct order, had she indeed ordered her to stay, short of clapping a Shield to Egwene and Silviana both, opening her Gateway there in the study itself before Gawyn could come running, and leave her Amyrlin trussed like a goose for spitting. She did not ask, for Egwene half believed Nynaeve might do just that. "This is a commission denoting you the Tower's official attachment to the contingent that holds Tarwin's Gap against the Shadow. Let it not be said that Aes Sedai have forgotten Malkier a second time."

Nynaeve nodded again. "Thank you." was all she said.

Egwene snorted, sinking back into her tall-backed chair. With one hand she pushed her hair back from her brow, using the same motion to surreptitiously press her temples. Though she was so tired, she could not help but be amused. "'Thanks,' nothing. I'm only trying to save face for the both of us. I won't stop you, Nynaeve—" she regarded the diminutive bundle of tension across the desk top. She'd managed to stop her pacing, but the resultant buildup of energy seemed enough to shake her apart where she stood. Egwene half expected her shortened hair, unbound, to rise and crackle. "—Light knows it'd be impossible. I can be grateful, I suppose, that you thought at least to _try_ to go about it properly."

That had been the wrong thing to say. "_Properly_ be damned!" Nynaeve spluttered. "There are more important things, Egwene. I'll thank you to remember that."

Egwene made no answer to that; Nynaeve's remark hit too close to home. Folding the document and pressing her sigil to the Power-heated blob of wax holding it shut, she proffered it across the desk, twitching the sheet a few times in the nervous woman's periphery to catch her attention. As the former Wisdom tucked the sheaf behind her belt, Egwene began again sorting through her discarded papers.

"Come back to us, if you can." she sighed, never entertaining the illusion that the Yellow actually _would_. "Keep in contact, at least." she admonished dilutely. The words were mostly for her own benefit: Nynaeve was too preoccupied to pay her much heed. Egwene would have to touch her dreams with a reminder tonight, once Nynaeve's anxiety had been answered, one way or another._ Light, let her worry be needless_, Egwene prayed, and was only a little shamed at the double entreaty of it. Yes, she prayed for her friend's sake—for Nynaeve _and_ Lan's—but she prayed also as Amyrlin on behalf of the rest of the world. If the Malkieri holding the Gap fell, Tarmon Gai'don could very well come early.

"I may send a Green or two along after you," she warned as an afterthought, mentally weighing the ramifications of committing a whole contingent. They _were_ the Battle Ajah, after all, whose sole purpose was to stand at the Last Battle. As the nationless men at Tarwin's Gap, so too might no little number of the Green take the chance to join the inevitable fray a bit beforetimes. But how well could she afford to be that many Aes Sedai less? She did not mention the option aloud, lest Nynaeve latch on like a terrier and make it difficult for Egwene to do any less. Instead, feeling old, she said, "I swear, Nynaeve, if you were anyone else..."

Surprisingly, the older woman nodded in acknowledgment. Her hand hovered by the door handle as if she were unsure she had actually been released, and afraid to move rashly and revoke that privilege altogether. "I understand how important it is for the Tower that your image as Amyrlin remain untarnished, Egwene, but..." she shrugged helplessly, unable to politely phrase her feelings on the restrictive atmosphere that was the White Tower. However she understood—and even subscribed to the principle herself, in one form or another—did not mean she bore any love for it. Nynaeve's face grew red as she struggled, and failed, to contain herself. "But—bloody ashes, woman—" she burst out, "I changed your _swaddlings_. ...That's got to count for something." Arms folded now, Nynaeve stood refusing to repent the damning words that had just bullied their way out of her.

Egwene could not help herself from laughing, just a little. She would be shaking with half-hysterical mirth until her eyes welled, but that she was so tired. Nynaeve blinked owlishly at her, taken aback, then began to look moderately offended. Egwene mastered herself enough to intervene before the Yellow could do more than open her mouth. Incorrigible.

"I can see how good it is for Rand to keep you around," she murmured through the last chuckle. Nynaeve acknowledged that with an incline of the head; she even grinned a little, as if understanding that this was as close to an apology as the Amyrlin could come. And it was a mollifying statement, somewhat bridging the rift between them that had risen up where they quarreled about policy. Nynaeve was an odd duck who would always do things her own way, or not at all. And however wrongheaded Rand's ideas about the seals might be, he had managed to convince Nynaeve of them: for that feat alone he deserved the staunch ally he'd won in her. Egwene would simply have to work around that. She'd have liked to have the Yellow on her side, but however she felt entitled to the allegiance due to the bond the two women had shared in a former life—now most disorientingly reversed—or the affinity between them still, she could not begrudge him for it. Nynaeve was infuriating, obdurate and unyielding, but she had set herself over him somewhat as a keeper, and would not relinquish the position for anything, even if it became obsolete. Nynaeve, like Min, had made a solemn and silent vow to keep Rand human, to keep him sane. Judging against what she'd seen of him recently, Egwene was not sure how little he still needed such guardianship, but still she was glad he would have it. Nynaeve would not relinquish a task she'd set for herself, much less one burdened with such moral imperative, til the sky turned black. As well it might, in days to come, Egwene found herself thinking. As well it might, ahead of its time, if Nynaeve did not find good news at the Gap. Egwene prayed for it anyway, against the sorrow her friend did not deserve. If the news proved itself bad, Nynaeve would not be good for anything, and Egwene got the distinct feeling that she would be needed in days to come. Not that any of them would be unneeded, but still.

Gazing sadly on her friend's face, pinched with worry, Egwene sighed. The next time they saw each other, it might be across a battle line, pitted against one another because they disagreed as to the proper way to go about ending the world. Still, they might never see each other again. "Go, daughter." Egwene said, waiving a hand in dismissal.

Nynaeve only nodded, not wasting any more time on words, and took off. Egwene hoped briefly as her running footsteps receded out of earshot, that she had missed hitting Silviana with the door on her way out.


End file.
